A Mother in a Refugee Camp No Madonna and Child could touch...

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A Mother in a Refugee Camp
No Madonna and Child could touch Her tenderness for a son She soon would have to forget... The air was heavy with odors of diarrhea, Of unwashed children with washed-out ribs And dried-up bottoms waddling in labored steps Behind blown-empty bellies. Other mothers there Had long ceased to care, but not this one: She held a ghost-smile between her teeth, and in her eyes the memory Of a mother's pride... She had bathed him And rubbed him down with bare palms. She took from their bundle of possessions A broken comb and combed The rust-colored hair left on his skull And then — humming in her eyes — began carefully (to part it. In their former life this was perhaps A little daily act of no consequence Before his breakfast and school; now she did it Like putting flowers on a tiny grave. ACHEBE. C Collected Poems New York Anchof Books. 20W
O escritor nigeriano Chinua Achebe traz uma reflexão sobre a situação dos refugiados em um cenário pós-guerra civil em seu país. Essa reflexão é construída no poema por meio da representação de uma mãe, explorando a(s)
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